


You're My Bread And Butter, Idiot

by Finntrollhammaren



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Acting Out, Angst, Arguing, Drunk confessions, Fluff, M/M, Skwistok is also involved, Slow Burn, Trauma, a bit of an AU, but barely, charles insists he cant return, he's upset, just angsty pure boys, lots of tags, mildly, minor smut, pickles wants charles back, something feels off, they're both dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finntrollhammaren/pseuds/Finntrollhammaren
Summary: Set after Doomstar Requiem. Charles has stepped down as their manager and is currently the priest at the church. He quit due to breaking a 'clause' in his contract. The guys all feel lost, but Pickles is feeling his absence the most. He comes across Charles' old contract in his office. Pickles constructs a plan to rewrite his contract-- but then he needs to get Charles to agree to sign it.Both of them are stupid and unaware of their unspoken feelings. Mild comedy. Somewhat AU.





	1. 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for simplicity's sake I won't be mentioning Mr. Salacia or any of the other people involved in that whole.. mess. Hence why it's a bit of an AU. For reference they'll be on a break after Doomstar, laying low and alla that. Cool? Cool.
> 
> Also, since they don't really talk about the church in the show that much and not a whole lot is known about it, I'm just going to take a few liberties with how everything works. Sorry! 
> 
> But, you know, that's why I added that it's a bit of an AU. Nice.

The past few months had been... quite a lot. For all of them. Not even including their normal shenanigans. They recently had to go on a mission to rescue Toki and Abigail, Charles resigned, and the band had met face to face with someone who Pickles could only describe as some other-worldly being. None of it felt real. All of them had meetings with Twinkletits at least twice a week, having those dumb 'rock talks' with him and mostly being heavily sedated with whatever drug he ends up giving them that day to calm them down. 

Recently, they reluctantly hired a financial adviser at the bare minimum, to avoid the mishap they had last time with crystal mountain records and.. going broke. But the management position, for all intensive purposes, was still vacant. Media was never alerted at the fact that their "CFO" had stepped down, mostly for their own protection. Charles had left them a pile of potential candidates to fill his position after he left but none of them had even touched it, and Pickles noticed it was starting to collect dust.

They hadn't played a show since their return, mostly due to the fact none of them were emotionally stable enough to even think about music. Nor had they done any public events. Knubbler would occasionally stop by and try to urge them all into the studio to at least record ONE song, but they never got anywhere. Eventually he mumbled something about trying to rehash something old that they never released to stop fans from rioting and locked the door to the studio, probably in there working himself to the bone. At least some people cared. 

The drummer felt himself pause in front of Offdensen's old office, running his fingers over the handle and immediately recoiling away from it like he was burned. Charles had taken the liberty of cleaning some of his things out, but most of the essentials were still inside. The desk, chairs, files, etc etc. None of them bothered to step foot inside, although there were a few instances where klokateers had to carry a very inebriated Pickles out of the office to bring him to his own bed. He was the main member who wasn't handling his departure very well-- even if he was TECHNICALLY still around. It wasn't like he died. He was just.. some priest now. But he didn't live at Mordhaus anymore. He wasn't always available. In all honestly, none of the had even tried to talk to him since everything that happened during Doomstar. It was too raw. They were angry at him. For leaving. When, to them, they needed him the most. 

Who cared about some stupid clause? Contracts were broken all the time. Then again, Offdensen was always a strict rule enforcer. 

Pickles eventually turned the handle and realized it was unlocked, heading inside and immediately closing the door. He coughed a few times as he fumbled around for the light switch, the dust in the room becoming very apparent as he was finally able to take in his surroundings. Part of him stupidly thought that Charles would be right at his desk again, sipping some brandy and raising an eyebrow at him in expectancy. But there was no Charles to be found. 

He stumbled over to the desk chair and flopped himself into it, feeling every groove against his body and feeling that, in a way, he was having some heart-to-heart moment with Offdensen right now. "Fuckin' dildo.." he mumbled to himself, pulling that locket out again and glancing at the picture inside. He began wearing it again after they came back home, usually clutching it as he slept (although he was unaware of that, and none of the klokateers felt it was their place to say anything about it). "Fuckin... went'a be some... priesssst. Managin' us wasn' good enough?!" he found himself shouting, knocking over the pile of applicants on the desk and shaking his head. 

It was now that he began to rummage through the drawers, coming across pens and notepads that Charles probably didn't feel were important to take with him. But then his hands felt a heavy stack of paper, pulling it out and squinting to read the headline. 

This was it. His old contract. Why'd the hell he leave this laying around? Was this a sign? That he wanted to come back?. To drunk pickles, that is exactly what it meant. It was... a sign. A fuckin' sign. "What if.... what if I, rewrote it?" he pondered, scratching at his goatee before snickering. "Just.... change a' few things. Like that fuckin' dildos clause that made him leave in the firsssst place. Then... he'd hav'ta come back." He decided, holding the contract against his chest and spinning around in the aforementioned chair. Murderface was a Notary. This was something he could make legally binding, or whatever. They were fuckin' Dethklok. They could do anything they wanted, and people HAD to listen to em. 

He left the office and darted right over to Murderface's room, banging on the door and being met with a tired, grumpy William. "What do you want?" He muttered, Pickles rattling off his plan and causing William to only wave his hand dismissively with a brief 'sure, whatever, now let me sleep!' and a door slammed in his face. Well, that was still a yes in his books. Sure meant yes. This was a good idea. Had to be. It was destiny, dude. He ended up waking up every other member and telling them all the same plan, and everyone-- especially Toki-- appeared to support it and agreed that it had to be a sign. 

"He ain't some priest, guise. He's that.. suit n' tie dude. I'm gonna fix it. Leave it to picklessss." He bowed, almost falling over in the process and burping before heading to wherever he could find a computer to type up an entirely new contract. Which was bigger than he thought. And took WAY longer than he thought-- mostly since he had to get help from at least a dozen different klokateers to correct spelling and grammar errors for him. A typo could unbind it. He had to make sure this all went off without a hitch. 

After wasting a lot of paper and printer ink the new (and improved) contract was drawn up, now he just had to go through the effort of having it officiated by the appropriate legal parties. Luckily for him, Dethklok personally employed almost every profession you could think of, since they never trusted outsiders and preferred to have everything on one big payroll. He drummed his fingers against the stack with a goofy grin on his face as certain pages were stamped with a seal and gone over by people he didn't really care about, currently trying to figure out how to even contact Offdensen. He probably needed to go to the church. Wherever that was. Someone here would have to know, right? It was an entire religion dedicated to them, and stuff. Their staff had to be members. 

With the new, and officiated contract in hand Pickles spent the entire night quizzing literally everyone about 'The Chief's whereabouts, bags under his eyes starting to get heavier and heavier as he genuinely could NOT remember the last time he slept. 

It was only when he was given a location and a promise of being driven there in the morning that he made his way back to his own bedroom, placing the contract securely under his bed before chugging half a bottle of vodka and some sleeping pills before passing out for the night. 

Pickles was coming for you, Charles. Whether you want him to or not.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be a weird mixture of things from both Charles and Pickles. But it's still third person so I mean.. we all know how this works. Yep. 
> 
> Okay bye!

Pickles woke up bright and early considering last nights events, going to bed only.... four hours-ish ago. He was honestly still drunk from the day before, stumbling to his feet and making a half-assed effort to try brush his teeth so it smelled a little more minty than it did whiskey and morning breath. Surely that wouldn't be a very good first impression to a church. Was it more like a cult? That's honestly what it sounded like. If they were a church, was he considered to be some sort of god? Shit, he was a god now. In your face, Seth. Your brother is a god!

He made sure to grab the contract and placed it inside of a briefcase he only just now discovered he owned, probably something Charles bought them at some point only to be totally discarded and forgotten about-- like most things. They really never did appreciate his help until he was gone, huh?. When he was imagined to be dead, they all but ruined their lives in less than a year without him around. At least this time they were learning a FEW things from their old mistakes. But things could never go back to how they were without him around- which is exactly why he needed to come back. Duh. 

The drive/ride/swim(?) to the church was extremely quiet, since none of the other members were 'ready for that' yet, and it wasn't like he could become all buddy-buddy with the klokateers. It was their job to be silent and do whatever needed to be done. It sucked, sometimes. The fact that Pickles didn't seem to have any other friends aside from the other members of Dethklok-- but none of them would ever admit they were friends. It wasn't very metal to show appreciation to each other.

\----

Charles shrugged on his robes and looked into a nearby mirror, squinting before reaching for his glasses and slowly pushing them up onto his nose. He never really would get used to this, he supposed. Waking up to robes was much different than waking up to a fresh suit and tie, with the sound of wailing adult manchildren in the halls. It was always so quiet around here, and he wasn't liking it that much. He learned that silence was much more appreciated when he DIDN'T get a lot of it, as it forced him to take in those small moments so much more. But now it was all he had. Silence and whispers and chants and prayers. 

Salacia and everyone involved in his previous mission had seemingly dropped off the radar, so he didn't even have that to occupy himself with. Not that the project was totally his concern anymore, but he was still Dethklok's guardian, in a sense. If there was danger... he was allowed to alert them of it. The only difference was, that was more or less the only time he ever really needed to reach out at all. It wasn't against the rules to do so, persay, but more that it was too hard. None of them had bothered to come and see him for council or advice since his departure as their manager, so they clearly weren't in need of him at the time. He could.. understand that. 

As he entered the hall to tend to his daily duties (which, really, weren't much) he was approached and told in a hushed tone that somebody 'very important' was insisting on meeting with him immediately, and he sighed before following the man into the main room of the church. A single eyebrow raised as he pushed back his hood, eyes widening at the sight before him. "Pickles." he muttered out, voice short and robotic as per usual. 

\----

Pickles spun around at the very familiar sound of Charles' voice, sort of stumbling up to him and prodding him right in the chest. "Ya.. got some fuckin' nerve, Chief." He slurred, having stolen a bottle of wine within ten minutes of being inside. What were they going to do, stop a member of DETHKLOK? One of the guys their entire RELIGION was based off of? Yeah right. 

He watched Charles clear his throat and adjust his glasses, still owning the same pair that he always seemed to have from the day he began working for them all those years ago. "You've been drinking, I see." He replied, not appearing phased by Pickles' display of macho power. They both knew who would win in a physical altercation-- and it sure as hell wasn't going to be Pickles. But that didn't stop him from scoffing and taking a swig from a bottle in his hand, the briefcase smacking against his leg. He'd already started to forget why he even came here in the first place. Oops. Alcohol sort of, did that to you. "Fuck yeah I have! I gotta... talk ta' yewww." He dropped the bottle and let it smash onto the floor, a bunch of people suddenly coming over to clean it up without a word. Wow, some things really stayed the same. 

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose when he watched the bottle smash, muttering brief apologies and only nodding. "Okay. Follow me. We can talk privately." He kept that same clipped tone of voice, the same one that made people call him an emotionless robot in the first place. It was mostly a force of habit-- not something he could just turn off whenever he wanted to. Managing Dethklok for so many years made him insanely patient and able to keep an even tone of voice, no matter how he was feeling on the inside. Right now, he felt nervous. His stomach was flipping over and over and he honestly just wanted to throw up. Why was Pickles causing such a visceral reaction in him? It was never something he was able to explain. 

The two men entered a room and Charles locked the door, gesturing for Pickles to sit down in a nearby armchair. "Mkay.." he mumbled, seeming to have become much less hostile than he was earlier in their meeting. The tension was still palpable, to put it lightly. 

Pickles glanced down at his briefcase and moved it into his lap, looking up at the ceiling as he felt Charles sit down beside him, knowing he was wanting an answer for all of this. "Lewk, Charlie.." He began, twiddling his thumbs and already feeling the man beside him tense up at the nickname-- it wasn't one he used too often. Which meant this was pretty serious. "Would ya ever... idunno, consider comin' back?" He piped out, grabbing the briefcase so hard that his knuckles were turning white. 

When he glanced up he saw Charles with his eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed like he was in deep thought. "You boys don't need me. I felt I made that perfectly clear. Things ARE going okay over there, right? None of you are in danger?" He asked, his voice seeming a little less choppy and actually.. human for once. "Well, yeah, they are, bu--" he began to argue, to which Charles only shook his head. "Then you're fine. I don't need to come back anywhere. It was.. nice seeing you, Pickles." He suddenly stood up again, dusting the robes off and turning away from the drummer. 

Well, huh. Pickles scoffed again and stood up after him, a bunch of rage coming back due to the sudden and blunt rejection. He was really just saying no like that? Without even trying to hear him out first?. "This was a bad ideya." He said to himself, standing in front of Charles again and thrusting the briefcase against his chest. "I made ya' a stewpid contract, douchebag. Changed a few things. Dunno why I bothered." He grumbled, searching around the room quickly and somehow finding ANOTHER bottle of alcohol that Charles did not remember having. Did he just spawn them out of thin air or something?.

Charles set down the briefcase and put it in the nearby closet for safekeeping, since he had ended up guiding Pickles to his bedroom. He figured that it was the most private room they could possibly find in such short notice. A place no one would interrupt them. "Do you, uh, need me to send someone for you? You're quite... intoxicated. Also, that was technically my bottle.. I suppose." He muttered, being totally ignored by Pickles who was now ranting about how much Charles sucked. Ah, lovely. "You know what? Just.. take a nap. Or stay here and finish that.. then take a nap. I'll tell them to return when you're sober." He said, only being waved off before he sighed and left the room. 

Pickles really made him a contract. The idea.. actually made him quite happy. Even if he knew he couldn't take it. 

He was trying to do the best thing for the boys. They didn't want him, or need him anymore. This was for the best. Charles did his job, now he was of no use.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about me, the writer: My legal first name is Toki. Last name isn't Wartooth, but I've totally heard the joke 800000 times.


	3. 3

Pickles felt weird about this. About everything. His life was now far from normal, and the one person that seemed to keep him in line was refusing to come back with him. Charles was just... someone so spectacular in his eyes. A total badass. A man that always seemed to have everything under control, even when the situation appeared to be hopeless. None of the other guys were capable of that. Sure, they were apparently part of some prophecy and had potential to be these ever so magical people-- but they couldn't do it alone. Hell, any superhero he ever remembered hearing about had someone keeping them grounded. Charles may be a 'normal' human being, but to Pickles he was more than that. He was his own personal god. 

He sighed and flopped into the man's bed as the door closed, taking swigs from the bottle and staring up at the ceiling. His mind was flooded with thoughts of Charles. He was remembering the time they thought he was dead, but he reappeared the moment they needed him the most. That was a time he would never forget. His heart had been beating out of his chest when that door opened, and his first instinct was to run over and hug him while never letting go. But he never did that. It was weird, for him. Pickles sure as hell wasn't a heartless bastard, but he was never the type to explicitly show affection to anyone. Yet when he saw Charles, he just wanted to touch him and hold him. It wasn't very brutal. So, he tended to lash out and berate him instead. Which wasn't fair, he knew that. But what else was he supposed to do?.

The bottle became empty and he felt himself getting bored, constantly looking over at the door in hopes that Charles would come back inside. He hoisted himself off the bed and to his feet, fixing his shirt and stumbling ever so gracefully to the door. "Charlesssssssss!" He shouted down the hallway, a pout on his lips as he narrowed his eyes a bit. "I wanna... go home." His mission had failed, and there was no reason for him to stay any longer-- as much as he was wanting to. Charles had made his choice, and as much as he hated it, there was nothing else he could do. He could try to beg, but it would be a cold day in hell before he begged anyone for anything. Wasn't his scene. 

Charles seemed to appear out of nowhere, almost causing Pickles to fall back on his ass. "Jeez. Give a little warnin', would ya?" He grumbled, gripping Charles' forearm to balance himself and feeling himself unable to let go even after the fact. "I'll.. uh. Contact the sub and dethbus for you. One moment." He looked down at Pickles' hand and gently removed it from his arm, disappearing momentarily before coming back just as quickly as the last. "They'll be here shortly. Want me to.. walk you back?" It was really only one long hallway and impossible to get lost, but maybe he was just wanting to drag this out. Who knew when he would be in the same room as the drummer again?. 

Pickles shrugged his shoulders with a huff, and Charles nodded before starting to walk with him down the hall. The walk was quiet, aside from the occasional mumbles of the drummer who was less than pleased with how things had turned out. As they reached the doors Charles stopped in his tracks and turned to face Pickles, placing his hands firmly on his shoulders. "Take care of yourself for me. I'll.. be here if you need me." He said earnestly, and he had to avoid eye contact. He knew deep down that he didn't want him to leave. This was the first time in a while that he felt normal again. Like he was back in his old life. Where he was always meant to be. He was never meant to be the priest, things just.. escalated out of control and things had to be done. It felt appropriate at the time, but now he couldn't help but regret it. 

There was a long, awkward silence between the two men, and it was only when there was a loud horn noise from outside that Charles lowered his arms and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeh. See ya, Chief." Pickles replied, smiling for the first time since his arrival. He then sighed a bit, before opening the large doors and heading back home where he belonged. 

Charles let out a loud sigh as he turned around and went back to his own chambers, leaning against the door and looking over at the closet. The contract. It.. wouldn't hurt just to take a quick peek at it, right?. He had to admit, he was curious as to what Pickles could have possibly conjured up. He knew that he had potential to be insanely intelligent, but he never would have expected something like this. He walked over and grabbed the briefcase that Pickles arrived with, sitting down on his bed and popping it open with ease. This was.. certainly one of his that he left behind. He really should have double checked that he had everything before he left. Oh well. 

He began to gently flip through the pages, paying careful attention to every word as if he were proofreading it for grammatical errors. But.. there were none. Overall, it was a fairly sturdy document. In the sense that it appeared to all check out legally. How long could this have taken him? And why was he bothering to go through all of the effort? Charles gave them files of replacements he felt would be more than appropriate. All the band had to do was pick one. The rest would be handled. But, overall, there WAS only one Charles Foster Offdensen. Irreplaceable. 

After putting the contract back into the briefcase and in his closet he began pacing, tugging at the robes and sighing repeatedly under his breath. Why did Pickles have to show up? Asking him to come back? Why Pickles, of all people? Hell, he would have preferred Nathan or something. It wasn't even because he didn't WANT to see Pickles. It was just.. so much more than that. It was harder to say no to him. His heart... physically ached when he said no to him. Every single time. Even when he managed him. Saying no to any of the other guys was so easy that he barely even gave it a second thought. Yet, when it came to something Pickles wanted, he had a tendency to cave and say yes-- or feel incredibly guilty about it for days afterward if he said no. 

He knew why. It was painfully obvious. That only gave him more of a reason to refuse, though. Surely that was against some type of law? Or at least moral ethics?. He would be in a position of power and it just wouldn't be right. But part of him honestly didn't care, and wanted nothing more than to go running back to his old duties as their manager. But it was wrong. It was so wrong. Pickles just.. felt so right to him. But he had to resist his most primal urges, since he knew there were a multitude of reasons why it wouldn't work. 

Charles was always a man that was selfless. He kept his personal life shut down, and focused all of his energy on his job and keeping the boys safe. Yet here he was, sitting in his bed, eyes darting over to the closet repeatedly as he felt himself desperately wanting nothing more than to be with Pickles and he hated himself for it. 

"I'm in love with Pickles." he muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and promptly burying his head under his pillows. 

If only life was simple. But with Charles, it never was. 

A few moments of groaning at the top of his lungs later he went to find a phone, furrowing his eyebrows as he stared down at it and began to dial Murderface's number, of all people. He wasn't in the right state of mind to be talking to Pickles right now. It ended up going to voicemail, and he let out a sigh of relief since he was able to avoid direct communication for now. 

"Hello. It's... Charles. I just wanted to let someone know that I plan on visiting sometime tomorrow. Keep your schedules open." He then hung up, hands balling up into fists as he shook his head and walked off to continue on with his day. 

He had no plan for his visit. Part of him was only hoping to change his own mind. Maybe they did need him. 

He wanted them to need him. He wanted his life to go back to normal. Or, his version of normal. Badly.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most likely will bring this to a close within two more chapters! I don't wanna drag it out too long and I need my boys to be gay boys. Yes.

Charles woke up the next morning and sighed loudly, already having informed the other members of the church of his visit for the day and placed someone else in charge temporarily during his departure. He was able to wear normal clothes at least, mostly because wearing his robes and other adornments in public would draw too much unneeded attention to him and could potentially put him in harms way. It was best to dress as civilian as possible-- just in case. 

He went to his closet and grabbed a plain t-shirt and windbreaker, pairing them with some dark wash jeans and running his fingers through his hair. As he got changed he caught a glimpse of the briefcase from the corner of his eye, reminding him of why he was even bothering to visit in the first place. That.. dumb contract. He wished so desperately that Pickles could have just let it go, made a decision with Nathan to pick someone else and leave him be. It was causing so much unneeded heartache for him, and it was making it harder to keep his personal and professional life separate. But there was nothing he could do about it now. Might as well see it through until the end. 

But he was.. secretly hoping that this would change his mind. The hopefulness was already enough to show that he wanted to go back. It was his damn pride in the way that was stopping him. That was always his problem.

Charles stepped out into the hallway and dusted himself off, unsure as to why he was caring so much about his appearance. Who did he have to impress? Nobody. The boys wouldn't care what he looked like. For his entire career, they only saw him in two different outfits. He was always boring looking. But maybe, just maybe, he was hoping Pickles would notice. That he wasn't always a suit-and-tie loser. He just wanted him to notice. That's all. It was pretty pathetic, honestly. He was a fully grown man, hoping another fully grown man would look at him and think 'wow, he looks good'. 

Shaking his head he paused as he was approached by a member of the church, claiming that a 'large and scary' submarine was waiting outside for him-- and had been for the past three hours. Ah. They sent him a ride. Considering he never said WHEN he would be coming by, he wasn't surprised they likely ordered a few poor klokateers to wait outside like idiots the entire time until he decided that he was ready. Those guys SERIOUSLY didn't get paid enough for this. He simply nodded and stepped outside, squinting his eyes up at the submarine sitting in the water. Ah, the most obnoxious looking thing they could have possibly sent for him. Perfect. The way he dressed did not make a single difference now. Supposed he should have expected this, though. It was Dethklok. They were unable to do anything without going all out or making a scene. 

He muttered a few quick 'thank you's' to the klokateers before getting inside and looking around, remembering all the hours he spent on here with the band and feeling a wave of nostalgia come crashing over him. Those were usually good times. Granted, most of the time he was scolding them for something stupid they had said or done earlier on in the day-- but those were still fond memories for him. All of them were. He didn't have one inherently negative memory involving him and that band. Most people would think he was an idiot for putting up with it all for so long, and even more of an idiot for even considering the idea of coming back to do it again. He supposed he was an idiot, then. As much as he tried to have a calculated, precise mind-- he was an idiot. An idiot in love with a self destructive drummer. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

They ended up transferring onto the bus and there was another long silence but... eventually they made it. They were at Mordhaus. All at once, the memories of his old life seemed to hit him like a semi truck. From his first day, to his last when he was packing up all of his things before the band could even give him a proper goodbye. He never saw them after they rescued Toki. Part of him still felt guilty about it-- but at the time, he didn't feel like it was worth it to wait. Giving them the extra heartache of watching him properly leave didn't seem fair at the time, especially after everything they had went through. He was trying to protect them in the most backwards way possible. He was also trying to save him that pain. He knew he might not have left at all if he stayed any longer.

Charles let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in as he stepped off the bus, looking up at the massive building with a gleam in his eye. The way he felt at the church was not even close to how he felt here. Deep in his heart he knew it was where he belonged. But there was still so much in the way of that, so much he could not let go of. His principals. His morals. The safety of the band. He still felt that his return would do more harm than good. But here he was. To visit. To attempt to change his own, stubborn mind. Nothing left to lose. He had already come this far. 

As soon as he approached the doors they opened, blinking in surprise as a large group of klokateers greeted him with a dozen 'hello sire's'. Supposed old habits died hard, right?. "Hello. Where are the boys? I'm here to see them." He ordered, realizing he immediately went back to his old ways without even realizing it. Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed softly, slowly walking through the hall as he was led to the main living area. His breath seemed to catch in his throat the moment he saw them, feeling incredibly uncomfortable with the circumstances. This was the first time he was here as.. Charles. Not their lawyer. Not their manager. Not their financial chief. Not even as the high holy priest. Just.. Charles. 

He cleared his throat and immediately all five heads turned to face him, and he was essentially trampled by a very happy Toki. "Charles! Yous back!" he squealed with delight, and Charles awkwardly gave him a few pats on the back as a way to reciprocate the hug. "I'm just.. er.. visiting, Toki. But it is nice to see you. To see all of you." He muttered, looking over at Pickles who appeared equally hopeful and also.. upset. Toki pulled away to give him room to breathe, and he instinctively walked over to the drummer with a small smile. "Hello, Pickles. It's good to see you.. again." He whispered, and the other man rolled his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest. "Why are ya here, Charlie? Ya made yer choice." he snapped, and it caused Charles to step back and shake his head. "Pickles, I--" 

"No. Geyt away from me." He cut him off before he could even finish, storming off and leaving the rest of the band to stare down at their feet. Well, that could have gone better. Much better. 

Nathan finally cleared his throat, gesturing to where Pickles had ran off to and back at Charles. "Why's Pickles having a bitch fit?" he asked, everyone else appearing equally as confused and looking to Charles for answers. "Uh.. no clue." He shrugged, and that seemed to satisfy everyone in the room for now. Except for Toki. He was the most naive member of the band, but he looked up to both Pickles and Charles and could tell that there was something going on there. He wasn't sure WHAT it was, but there was.. something. "I'm going to... speak to Pickles. I'll be back." Charles announced before Toki could ask any questions, figuring it was best to sort this out directly instead of involving the other members. 

After a few minutes of searching he found Pickles in what used to be Charles' office, bottle of whiskey in his hand. He looked over at the sight of Charles and scoffed again, taking a large swig and patting the chair on the other side of the desk. "Take a seat, Charlie." He announced, snickering to himself and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Charles took a few steps inside and did as he was told, not used to being on the other side of the desk for once. "Pickles.. what's going on? I wanted to see you but not like this." He attempted to reach a hand out which was subsequently smacked away, and the drummer shook his head. "Ya can't... jus' reject me 'nd visit like it's no big deal." He sniffled, almost looking like he wanted to cry. 

Charles took off his glasses to clean them before putting them back on, running his tongue over his lips. "I needed to see you. To see the house. It's just.. something I had to do. I lo--..." He quickly shut himself up, not wanting to allow his emotions to cause him to do something rash. "I'm sorry. I'll just.. go see the rest of the band and leave you alone." He then stood up, placing a hand on the desk and looking into Pickles' eyes. "I still have the contract." He smiled and cleared his throat again, walking out of the room before Pickles had the chance to react and heading back to the main living area to spend time with the others. It was nice. It felt like it should. None of them gave him a hard time about leaving, and they were able to focus on just 'paling around' like nothing had changed. 

But he knew Toki was still suspicious, not speaking much during his visit and mostly just playing with Skwisgaar's hair. They were cute. He knew there was something deeper than a friendship there. Everyone did, but no one spoke about it. It was just... how it was. They were each other's person. Even if neither of them would say it out loud.

Before leaving he paused in front of the front doors, looking down at his shoes with another stupid grin on his lips. 

He was signing that contract. He had to. 

For Pickles. For all of them.

Including himself.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably be the final one!! But don't worry, there will still be oneshots.

The moment he got back home (well, what he was having to call home. In retrospect he hadn't lived in a real house for a very long time. He moved into Mordhaus after it was built so he could always be in contact with the band-- not really a home) he went straight to his living quarters, groaning loudly and grabbing that damn briefcase again. It felt heavier than the last time he had to hold it, that's for damn sure. Maybe it was the added weight of guilt and anxiety, of all his worries of things that could go wrong. There appeared to be no immediate danger to the band that he knew of, but that didn't mean that it wouldn't start the moment that... army, or council, or whatever they considered themselves knew that he was back.

But that one afternoon he spent with the boys again (well, the boys minus Pickles) showed that being their manager was what he was meant to do. Not a priest. Hell, he wouldn't even consider himself to be the most religious man on the planet. The religion may be loosely based on the band themselves, but it didn't feel right for him. Every morning when he woke up he simply felt.. indifferent. Like he was on autopilot or something. He had no friends, just subordinates. But with Dethklok, he felt like he was part of a family. He always felt wanted or needed there. Always had something important to do, and it made him happy. His duties weren't always the most glamorous or easy to deal with, but he knew he was protecting the band and that was his prime objective. Which is why, when they were determined to go right into the middle of danger to rescue Toki, he had to step down. If anything happened to them he wouldn't be able to stop himself from feeling guilty and primarily responsible (although he likely would have blamed himself either way).

With shaky hands he fumbled with the latches to open it, eventually succeeding and shrugging off his jacket so he wasn't feeling so goddamn hot. His eyes slowly went over each line again, wanting to see just what this new contract would entail before he happily signed it with no regard for the fine print. He wasn't too worried about Pickles putting something reckless or stupid inside of it, but it was always recommended to know exactly what you were getting into when you were signing a legally binding document which could realistically change your entire life. But overall it appeared that he had kept most of it the same, but he made a soft 'hm' noise as he landed upon a few sentences that caught his eye. "Under no circumstances should Dethklok be put in danger UNLESS it is to rescue another band mate, or family member/loved one." He read out loud to himself, rolling his eyes and continuing. "This contract also states that under no circumstances can the person in question (Charles Foster Offdensen) make the decision to / be allowed to step down from his position as Manager and overall protector of the band." That made him laugh, rubbing his jaw idly as he tapped his pen anxiously against the paper. 

This contract was essentially keeping him employed to Dethklok for the rest of his life, then. Just a little bit different from the last one. He could potentially be fired (which he really, really doubted would happen) but he was not allowed to resign on his own regard. He supposed that was just Pickles trying to be safe and avoid having to go through all of this again, which was something Charles could respect. It even warmed his heart a little. He wondered if the rest of the band worked on this as well, or if they even knew about it. None of them had mentioned it during his visit, but that could simply be chalked up to the fact they may not have been allowed. Or it would just be a raw, awkward conversation to have and they didn't want to pressure him into doing something just because they all wanted him to. But it did seem that Pickles was the main mastermind behind the operation. Which was sweet. 

He never really knew that Pickles cared about Charles as much as he did. Then again, the drummer never really had many people he liked or could rely on in the first place. His blood relatives seemed to always let him down and push him away (more specifically his older brother was a worthless leech and his parents still considered him to not have a real job like 'Seth did'), and it wasn't like he made any friends in his spare time. The band was technically like his second family, but Charles could only imagine it became hard to deal with them sometimes. He sure as hell got close to snapping on more than one occasion due to their shenanigans. So maybe Charles was like.. a breath of fresh air for him. No, he was thinking much too highly of himself. Letting his own feelings manipulate his thoughts about how Pickles felt about him. It most likely just boiled down to the fact none of them wanted to think for themselves, and were so comfortable with Charles that they didn't feel the need to replace him. It was nothing more than that, as much as he secretly wanted it to be.

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose as he dropped the pen against the stack of papers, sighing loudly under his breath. He gently placed the open briefcase on the bed beside him and sauntered over to his closet, pulling out a hanger with a large black bag attached to it. With a deep breath he unzipped the bag and looked inside, staring at his old suit and tie with a small smile. Robes definitely gave him more freedom and they WERE more comfortable, but they didn't feel like.. him. He had worn suits for so many years he might as well have gotten one sewn to his skin. He was all about looking nice and clean cut. People tended to take you more seriously that way, in his experience. If he walked around in whatever he wanted, his career would not have gone as smoothly as it had. 

It was with a sudden change of heart that he closed the briefcase and hurriedly put on his jacket again, rushing out of his room and dialing Nathan (he was still too afraid to talk to Pickles, especially after what happened at Mordhaus) and requested him to send a ride, as he was coming back immediately. Nathan seemingly didn't question it and muttered "see you soon" before hanging up, and Charles rolled his eyes while he waited outside, gripping the damn briefcase and sweating bullets out of pure nervousness. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After sending some transportation back for Charles again Nathan decided to try talk to Pickles, since the drummer seemed to go into hiding the moment Charles had appeared and none of them had gotten the chance to speak to him since. Something was going on. It.. was not metal or brutal to care about someone's feelings, but their recent 'mission' changed how he viewed that for the most part. This was still pretty gay, though. 

He found Pickles in what used to be Charles' office and cleared his throat quite loudly, causing the man in question to almost fall out of his (well, Charles') chair. "So, Pickles. Mind telling me why you had a fit at Charles? He's cool." He said casually, crossing his arms over his broad chest and raising an eyebrow at him. Pickles muttered something incomprehensible under his breath at that, looking up at Nathan with half-lidded eyes which presumably meant he was hammered and had been for a few hours. It was the norm for him, though, so Nathan wasn't that worried about it. Maybe a little bit, but he sure as hell didn't plan on showing it. Asking him about his feelings was bad enough. 

"Ya kno what, Naythan? I'm fuckin... well.." He burped after that, putting the bottle down on the desk and trying his best to make eye contact although his vision was pretty blurry. "I lov 'im, Naythan. In a gay way. I wan' him back, dood." He was sniffling and Nathan was terrified that he would start crying, since he never had to deal with anyone crying around him before and wouldn't even know where to start with comforting him. Comforting was NOT brutal. But.. wait a second.. did he just say he loved Charles? He LOVED Charles? Out of all people?. Well, Charles was a great guy, but it didn't sound like an actual sentence. "That's... cool." He muttered, looking down at the floor. He would support it. Being gay may not be that brutal, but it was cool in his eyes. Guess he really was softening up. How weird. 

"I guess I should tell you that he's coming back then. He's gonna be here soon. Sober up, jackass. Make a good impression." Nathan announced, nodding to himself before leaving the room to let Pickles get the fuck over himself. Wallowing in self pity was pathetic, and Nathan knew he was better than that. Charles wouldn't be very impressed with it either. Definitely wouldn't make him eager to jump into bed with the guy. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After Nathan abruptly let him know that Charles was coming back AGAIN he panicked, running back to his room to take a cold shower and try smell less horrible. He even brushed his teeth and used mouthwash (which rarely happened, it was a miracle that Pickles still had teeth) to look his best. He was in the middle of putting his pants on when he heard the front doors of Mordhaus open and knew exactly who it was, fumbling with his button as he ran down the long hallway to the rest of the guys. 

There stood Charles. With the briefcase. 

They locked eyes and Pickles smiled, fixing his hair nervously and looking around at everyone else. Charles smiled back at him as he took off his jacket, also carrying a hanger with a bag attached in his other hand. "I need to have a discussion with Pickles. In... my- no, THE office. If you'll excuse me." He said, grabbing the drummer by the wrist and walking with him back to where he had been apparently spending most of his day crying and drinking and bitching. It reeked of booze in there, and Charles made a mental note to have it scrubbed top to bottom to get rid of the smell. But he was surprised to notice that Pickles had apparently taken a shower, and... his breath smelled minty? Which meant he brushed his teeth? Huh. What a weird sight. 

Pickles rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the briefcase as Charles hummed and placed it down on the desk before clearing his throat loudly. 

"Well? Let's get down to business. We have something important to discuss."


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this ending is a bit abrupt! I didn't feel like dragging the ending out too much and feel this gets the point across in a sweet way! 
> 
> I'll be doing more one shots at some point. So the chickles content will not end. Trust me ;D

Pickles was sweating metaphorical bullets the moment Charles began to speak, sitting down in the nearby chair with almost robotic reflexes. He was worried that this would be a whole bunch of bad news that he wouldn't want to hear-- that Charles would go on some long speech about how changing the contract means nothing, he needed to stay at the church for the sake of the band, bla bla bla. Guilt the drummer a whole bunch and then give him back the contract. That's what he was expecting as he watched the other man anxiously drum his fingers against the wooden desk, as if he were trying to figure out the right words to say to address the situation they both found themselves in. 

"I uh.. I've had a long think about this. The contract. You guys. You, in particular." He finally said, and it caused the percussionist to perk his ears up in curiosity when he was singled out. Charles taking any time at all to think about him made his stomach do lil' somersaults, even though it didn't automatically mean he was thinking of him in a GOOD light. Pickles decided he should probably say something instead of leaving the man to flounder like a fish out of water and grinned, hoping this was leading in a better direction than he thought initially. "Yeh? I'm a good thing ta' think about." He stuck his tongue out a bit, and Charles could feel his cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink. It luckily seemed to blend in with his pale complexion, but he found himself looking down anyways. 

"Yes. Well, against what I feel should be my better judgement I uh..." He coughed, looking up and making eye contact with the gorgeous green hues of the man across from him. "I'm going to accept. If you'll have me, of course." He pulled a pen out of his pocket and twirled it between his fingers, watching Pickles' expression change at least half a dozen times while trying to take in the news. It was at least a few minutes of opening and closing his mouth that he spoke, jumping up out of his seat with a very triumphant 'Oh, fuck yes! Yer not gon' regret this one, chief." Truth be told, Charles could not remember the last time he had seen the drummer so happy. Maybe this really was the right thing to do, after all.

Even if there was still the other morally ambiguous problem to deal with. He definitely couldn't even consider a relationship with Pickles now, right? He couldn't say it was inherently illegal or anything, but like he thought before... surely that wasn't okay as an overall thing? This was, of course, not taking into account if he even reciprocated feelings or not. Charles was never any good with intimate relationships-- which is precisely why he became a manager in the first place. You never really had to think about stuff like that. Everything was pretty much black and white as far as business affairs went-- although with Dethklok in particular there were many grey areas. This was one of them. He could just... ask him. But he was way too much of a coward to do that-- and that was saying something. Coming from the man that fought an assassin tripe his size on multiple occasions. 

Feelings were terrifying. Confronting them was worse. 

Charles took the pen and began to sign wherever Pickles indicated, and the contract was then handed over to the drummer who signed it as well and placed it back in the briefcase. "I'll geyt tha rest of tha guys ta' sign it.. later or whatever." He shrugged his shoulders, and he could tell Pickles was getting nervous all of a sudden. Something was bothering him-- and he wanted to find out what that was. Was he regretting the offer now that it was almost official? Or was it something more than that?. 

Pickles reached across the desk and grabbed the almost-Manager's hands, giving them a tight squeeze that caused Charles to gasp softly under his breath. "Charliee.. I reaaally gotta tell ya' sumthin'." He muttered, pulling back to walk around the wooden slab of desk and stand only a few feet away from Charles. There was a tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife, and Charles could feel his breath get caught in his throat as the seconds ticked on. A second was feeling like an eternity right about now. "Yer good with ah.. tha fancy shit but that.. ain't tha main reason I wanted ya' back." 

He kept his eyes on his shoes instead of up at Charles, wondering why he was even doing this but feeling it was fair to have full transparency if he was about to work here full time again. It was just... better to get the facts straight and lay all of the cards out on the table. If he got rejected, then he got rejected. He would.. learn to deal with it, probably. "I'm in love with you." and then.. there was silence. Pure silence. He looked up at Charles who was staring back at him with a more than shocked expression, entire face slowly but surely turning red as he hid his face against his hands. Pickles narrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, clearing his throat quickly. "Nuh-uh, Charlie. Yer gon' answer me. No goin' to yer little hidin' place." He grabbed his hands and lowered them back to his sides, giving them a light squeeze. 

"That's a relief. Here I was thinking those feelings were unrequited. I feel a little less stupid now." Came the response and he didn't have time to get anything else out before being practically tackled by Pickles, who knocked the chair back a few feet and then straddled poor Charles' lap. A lightly freckled hand was placed on each shoulder as he stared down with a big ol' smirk, eyes momentarily darting toward the door which he remembered they locked before sitting down. No interruptions, right?. "Dood, No idea how long I've wanted this. Lil' Charlie in his dumbbb businessy suits." That made Charles roll his eyes in return, arms wrapping around that slender waist and clasping his fingers together at the small of Pickles' back. Suits were the way to a drummer's heart. 

More silence followed before they both pressed their lips together, the kiss starting off sweet but quickly becoming heated and desperate as Pickles slid his tongue into Charles' mouth. Charles made a note that he definitely did brush his teeth and was silently grateful for it, since he half-expected their first kiss (if they ever ended up having one-- and ta da) would be a lot of second-hand alcohol tasting. The minty freshness was a nice touch. "Pickles--" he piped out as he pulled away for air, the redhead only opting to start giving tender kisses along his neck instead. He could feel his toes curl a bit as he did so, and he instinctively brought him closer. 

"I'm not about to sleep with you in my office. It needs to be cleaned." He mumbled, and he could hear Pickles sigh before he decided to get his own petty revenge and give him an obnoxiously noticeable hickey smack dab on the side of his neck. Great. "Yer lame, Charlie. Lucky tha' yer cute." He grumbled under his breath, before vacating Charles' lap and grabbing that very cursed briefcase containing the contract. "So... yer my boyfriend now, huh? I mean, if ya wanna be." He asked, rocking back and forth on the heels of his shoes. Charles rose an eyebrow and thought it over briefly before nodding, getting up to dust himself off. "Yeah. After the revelation of our shared mutual feelings I think I would like that.. a lot." 

Pickles beamed at him before taking a few steps towards the door, a definite spring in his step. "C'mon. Gotta let em' kno the good news." and off he went, leaving the office which led to Charles darting after him-- holding a hand against his neck this time. He would need to attempt to cover this up with makeup later. No one would believe he was given this by.. a woman. He basically screamed 'gay' without trying. 

Luckily, the band was ecstatic and signed the new contract without a second thought (nor did anyone point out the hickey that Charles had given up trying to hide after they found the boys)-- making it official. Charles Foster Offdensen was now reinstated back into all of his old duties. Things could return back to normal. Well, normal-ish. After the events of Doomstar, things would never truly be normal. But supposed normal wasn't really something you were allowed to expect when you were part of an ancient prophecy. You could only aim for as normal as possible. Which is all they wanted to do. Being gods sounded cool and everything-- but they were more focused on playing death metal. Magic abilities could wait. 

\- - - - - - - - - - -

In the middle of celebrating Pickles stood up and climbed onto the table, holding a bottle of beer in his hand with a dopey grin on his lips. "Okeeee. I got... hav.. an announcemintttt." He slurred, eyeing Charles as well as the rest of the band. Charles hid his face and began to silently mumble 'oh god' under his breath, not even wanting to guess what his little announcement was supposed to be. "Me n' Charlie are in loveeeeeeeeeee. Ain't tha' right? Yer my boyfrienddddd now." He turned around to the Manager in question who was currently sinking down into his seat, but felt himself nodding reluctantly. "Yes, Pickles. We are... in a relationship." So much for keeping it all a secret until he was able to properly figure out how to tell the others. At least they had gotten it over with already. Secrets weren't fun to keep-- especially relationships. 

Nathan rolled his eyes and clapped a bit, ushering the drunk drummer off the table to he could reach for a beer on the other side. "Yeah, yeah. Go fuck or whatever. Trying to party. Congrats, I guess." He muttered, and that only caused Pickles to look at Charles and size him up before nodding in agreement. "Kay. Byeeee guiseeeee. Gon' fack Charlie all night long! Stay outta my room!" He ended up shouting before tugging on the man's wrist, who reluctantly got up to follow him out of the room. 

On their way out he spotted Toki, who seemed quite happy over the little announcement and even turned to Skwisgaar to say. "Skwis! We cans do.. dates doubles!" only to be met with a groan and "You means doubles dates, Tokis." but didn't seem to be against the idea. Cute. Suppose that meant they were a couple after all. Not that.. well, literally anyone was surprised. Shame for all those poor GMILFS, though. They would need to find another blonde Swedish man to have sex with.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Charles panted while staring up at the ceiling, and he could feel Pickles return to the bed after their much-needed shower. The percussionist rolled onto his side and curled up against his body, a few stray dreadlocks fanning out against the manager's pale skin. "I'm.. glad yer back, Charlie. Didn' feel the same without ya. Feels better havin' you as my boyfriend. Never thought I'd hav' one. Heh." He whispered out, moving his chin to properly make eye contact with those gorgeous mocha hues again. Pickles felt more than blessed over the fact he was able to snag such eye candy, and would probably make an effort to tell him how attractive he was at least once a day. Being with Charles was already turning him into some weird, hopeless romantic. Gross.

"I'm glad to be back too. I didn't uh.. properly say this before, but... I love you, too. Thanks for.. well, everything." That was met with a few soft kisses, and Pickles laughed while shaking his head. "Hey. I was sappy enuff. No gettin' sappy on me, kay?. Bed time. Handle all tha' lame stuff in tha' mornin." He muttered, leaning his head back down and turning off the bedside lamp, and Charles sighed before letting his eyes close so he could get some much needed rest. 

It was the best sleep he had in months. 

He was definitely never leaving. No matter what. This was where he was always meant to be. Not some priest in a cult-esque church. But a manger of the most famous death metal band.

He was home. Forever.

With Pickles.


End file.
